Atlantis
by Dimitri A
Summary: What you are is everything you aren’t. Ron simply was never who they thought he was. Stuck in a place they call Atlantis, he has only a mute, a manic, and the strangely flawed to help him through it. (RD, and others)
1. Letter to the Reader

Atlantis

I don't own Draco and Ron, or anyone else you can clearly identify.

Author: Dimitri Aidan and Aloysha AKA Solis

Rating: R to NC-17, depending on the mood of those in charge.

Pairings: Draco/Ron, Dean/Seamus, Harry/Hermione, Snape/Remus.

Summery: What you are is everything you aren't. Ron simply was never who they thought he was. Stuck in a place they call Atlantis, he has only a mute, a manic, and the strangely flawed to help him through it.

Genre: Slash, Romance, Angst, Drama.

POV: This is told in…an interesting fashion. Everything is told from some undefined point in the future, as seen in Ron's opening 'letter'. There will be 'flashback' type journal entries from each boy through out the first few chapters, my way of catching you up to the point at which the story starts without any long drawn out explanations.

Notes: This was once 'Atlantis Keys' but it underwent an overhaul. It's set post war and it's depressing but maybe we'll see a happy ending. And, also, this will be updated depending on how it fares against my other Ron/Draco story in the boxing ring that is my mind. Seriously, one plot idea has to knock the other one out before I'll write it…

Oh, and I swear, last story I'm uploading... I'm going to go and finish stuff now.

Warnings: It's…Dark. Major Character Death, Character Bashing, Rape, Child Abuse, Torture…

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Forward

Letter to the Reader

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I was, by most everyone's standards, a pretty average seventeen-year-old boy. Hell, even by my own standards, which had a low tolerance for strangeness (considering everything my best friend got me into, I was always sure to detect the first sign of things going out of control), I was pretty…normal.

Well, other than my abnormally large family. And famous best friend. And my other super genius Muggle-born best friend. And, arguably, evil-genius older twin brothers… And my other three older brothers, who were unique in their own ways. And my sister, who'd been possessed by an evil diary once…

Yeah, other than all of that…

In fact, it was because of all of that, that I was pretty average. Sure, I saw a lot of amazing things, but only because those around me were into amazing things. Left to my own devices I was a very normal kind of guy. No special talents, beyond being a wiz at chess. Boring almost…

Boring old me. I liked Quidditch, girls, and food, hated school and anything that involved work…

Pretty basic. Just like thousands of other boys in the Wizarding World. I was dependable that way…and in other ways, of course. But mostly you could always count on me to be sturdy and never changing…no big surprises with me.

I was just…Ron.

And one day I was to stand next to my best friends, after the Dark Lord had been put down again, and I'd have played some kind of mildly important part, concerning loyalty or friendship, and then life would go on.

Kind of like Draco Malfoy if you want to think of it that way. Draco was also a very unchanging person. He was a nasty little git, selfish and concerned with only himself. He had his lackeys do all of his work, while he just sat around and looked smug. He never changed.

He didn't need to. His position in life was already secured. He would go down in history as the blond Slytherin annoyance, son of a Deatheater, who eventually became a Deatheater himself, and raised his son to be the same. It was his family's legacy in a way.

His story had been written and finished long before he was even born.

Or Seamus Finnigan. He was destined to exist as background noise to those greater, to those who would write the story and shape the world. He was just a minor bit character, sometimes thrown in by some cosmic power to add a ripple or two in a great pond but, in a general sense, he was destined for nothing great. He'd probably get married, have some kinds, and die like the vast majority of people, without really having ever rocked the boat.

Dean Thomas was pretty much the same. He was quite, reserved and often overlooked. He too was just scenery, forgotten and left alone. If not for Seamus he'd be no one at all, but his best friend gave him a kind of definition throughout the years. He was the one in control, who kept Seamus under control, and he saw things that no one else really saw. He was one of the rare kind of people who liked to be hidden and never seen…

So it seems rather odd, considering this group, that anything of actual interest would have happened. A boring Wizarding teen, two who would barely amount to extras in a play or movie, and finally a rich, pampered evil son of a Deatheater.

Our fates were in stone, and none of us would really impact things beyond the scopes of their set roles. Life had dealt them a very particular and careful hand, and they were never to stray from the path. They had little reason to; everything was straightforward and simple.

Nothing would ever change.

We all were who we always were.

So why a story about us? Why delve beneath the surface of those who weren't heroes and wouldn't change the world?

Because it's the people in the background who make all the difference. It's the people in the background who are the world, who give it meaning and shape it in the subtle often overlooked ways. I could be getting a little over dramatic as I near middle-age I suppose, but I always figure if not for people like us then there would be no need for people like Harry and Voldemort, who made the big gestures.

And why shouldn't those in their set roles have a chance to explain how they eventually just…slipped out of their roles anyway?

So that's what we're going to do. We dug out the old journals we were forced to keep then got together and began wracking our brain to recall things that, if we had an ounce of definable common sense, we wouldn't go screwing around with.

But it's like seeing two brooms collide in mid-air. It's terrible and you shouldn't be entranced by it but you just can't seem to help yourself, even when the wreck and the pain are your own. I'd like to say that being more well adjusted makes me wonder about who I was back then but I'm very rarely really that optimistic.

Lets just leave it at: As long as I am aware and understand why I was who I was then, I can't be that person again. That sounds good doesn't it? I think it does, so I'm going to go ahead and stick with that.

It's not really a happy story, when you think about it. Sure, it ended on an up note and everything but…it's not really happy. But why should it be? It wasn't all rainbows, butterflies, and big eyes kittens for everyone when the war was over.

Some of us were scarred, jaded, changed…but of course you never hear about any of that stuff because it's too depressing. You all want to believe we saved the day from the big bad evil and skipped off hand in hand into the setting sun.

That's not it.

…I think that's all I have to say right now. Feel free to put this tale down and continue on your way, or else turn the page and begin.

Ronald L Weasley.


	2. When You’ve Taken Your Last Breath

Atlantis

Stuff I should have told you last time: XXXX-_Scene transition_

xxxx-_Transition from Journal to scene_

OOOO- _Divide journal header from journal entry._

Oh. This will actually have a plot beyond 'look at the crazy people', I swear. I'm just going to take my sweet time getting there.

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Chapter One

When You've Taken Your Last Breath

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Journal Entry Five

Draco Malfoy

Year Seven

Number: 191213

OOOOOOOOOO

According to Professor Bear I am not using my journal in a productive manner, as various doodles of various ways to kill him aren't productive in his view, and if I plan to heal must begin to record what I believe led me here, to be patient number 191213 of St. Mungo's, in the care of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And, believe it or not I've given the matter some serious thought and I've come to the conclusion that I have no idea in hell what that number means.

We all have one.

I was assigned one over summer break, after my parents died.

Apparently I lost my mind, or succumbed to depression, or allowed myself to lose hope or…something. I think that, for the first time in a long while, I saw things clearly. My father hadn't vanished and my mother hadn't left to go after him. They hadn't abandoned me in an attempt to flee the Dark Lord, as my parents 'friends' tried to convince me. Though maybe if I'd believed that I'd be in a better situation.

I wonder if they truly thought I was that moronic.

My parents are dead. It's confirmed now, the bodies were found. Beaten, tortured, starved, and brutalized, because they dared to challenge the Dark Lord. They'd spoken out against Voldemort for the stupidest reason possible.

For their son. They'd wanted to spare me the Dark Mark, spare me…something.

A lot of people will talk about them; my parents that is. Call them cruel and distant and unloving and just interested in a trophy son. Say they had no interest in my life or me; say they were selfish and only thought of themselves. Say they abused me, emotionally and some would even say psychically.

I've heard very nasty rumors about my father, actually.

And it's funny, because maybe you'd expect it. I mean, look at us…the Malfoys. A perfect china doll family if ever there was such a thing. Tall with perfect long platinum blond hair, distant gray-blue eyes, flawless powder pale skin, delicate features, long and thing fingers, aristocratic nose, full pink lips…

Perfectly perfect. The three of us were unmatched in that area. We made other families look pale in comparison, for when the Malfoy family walked into a room it was like all the life was ours.

Which could have been true. My mother's mother was a Veela, which added to my mother's unique charm and had made many a man fall at her feet before she'd settled on my father. And not because of his money or the easy lifestyle he offered, as many may suspect.

My mother loved my father. She would have died for him. Did die for him, after a fashion, I suppose, or at least with him. Some people theorize what when a Veela falls in love that, men everywhere have their hearts broken.

If that's the case many man suffered from heartbreak that day. Narcissa Malfoy may not have been a warm or kind woman, but the way her eyes glowed when she saw my father spoke more than many people will ever understand. She looked at the man, that terrible hard man, and saw something the rest of the world couldn't even imagine.

I can't even imagine.

I remember, when I was young, my mother liked to entertain me by dancing for me. Another Veela charm I suppose…I think it started as an attempt to sooth me by using actual Veela magic, but it seemed I was immune to it. And then became a sort of game; "Draco, watch mummy now. Watch close."

And I remember once, sitting, and watching when my father came home. And my mother didn't miss a bit. She took him by the hand and swept him into the music and I don't think I had ever seen the man laugh or even crack a smile until that moment.

That's the thing about family moments. No one else will ever appreciate them quite as much as I did. No one will understand why I mourned for these people like I did, and many won't understand that I'm capable of mourning at all.

They don't…can't, understand that I will miss my mother standing in my doorway every night and wishing me good dreams. Even when I had a nanny to put me to bed, she'd be there. No party or ball or dinner could make her miss it for the world.

I wish, violently, that I hadn't taken to rolling my eyes when she did it. I was too old, I thought. I was too old for such things…until it was gone. Until night came and I found myself sitting up and watching the door and wanting so much for her to be there, dressed up in a perfectly pressed blue gown (because Father said blue brought out her eyes) with her hair up and pinned into place, and smelling like the…earth. Wet earth, always.

And I wanted her to smile and wish me good dreams and I swear, I wouldn't tell her I was too old…

I won't lie of course. My mother was self-centered and shallow, a selfish woman to the core, and terribly high maintenance.

But she also worked out in the garden and got dirt onto her hands, and chased her son around the grass, and shared secret looks with her husband. There was more than money in my mother's voice, more than wealth on her mind.

I will miss…so many things about her. Even the way she wrinkled her nose when she was displeased, and she was constantly displeased.

And my father. There isn't that much to say about him. He was a horrible man, most might even venture to say evil…hell I would venture to say evil. But he loved his wife and he loved his son, even if he never really satisfied with what he did.

And now I wonder if he was constantly telling me to do better because he knew I could.

If that were the case, wouldn't he be tragically disappointed now?

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"Now, Ronald, this is Class 1. It's where you begin. As you progress, you'll move up through the rooms and gain points and, eventually, return back to the general Hogwarts' population." Professor Bear, who was a tall man of perhaps 25 and looked like he was fresh from Wizarding University, was saying.

Draco looked up from his sketchpad, pausing in his drawing. His journal sat a few feet away, safety quill writing down all of his thoughts in a nice and orderly fashion. His thumb was dark gray from the smearing the charcoal over the rough paper, and the rest of his hand was a dusty gray.

At the door stood Bear, with his curly brown hair gleaming in the dim light they over here. 'Here' being the ward for 'Endangered Cases'. It was an entire three floors of Hogwarts, totally cut off from the rest of the castle through the use of magic and wards.

They called it Atlantis. Draco didn't know who the hell 'they' were but that's what 'they' called it anyway. Draco didn't really see the point of it.

The bottom floor was for classrooms. The middle floor was dorm rooms. The top floor was for therapy.

Draco wasn't allowed onto the top or middle floor, because he'd made the offhand reference to jumping out of a window once. They'd set up a special bedroom for him on the first floor. He was less than totally appreciative, understandably.

Next to Bear was a tall and lanky redhead. His hair was longer than it used to be, shaggy almost, and his skin was a grayish color. His blue eyes were blank and sunken in, giving him the look of one who hadn't eaten or slept in days. His arms were taped up, making it very apparent what exactly he was in for.

What in the world had possessed a member of the golden trio to off themselves? Had Golden Boy run off the Mudblood and left poor little pauper to his own devices?

And if that was the case, slitting your wrists really made attending to your own 'devices' a pain in the ass, since you were all bandaged up, then all sore and itchy…it really killed the 'self-loving' mood, in a manner of speaking.

"The rest of the students are upstairs, for group. This is Draco, I assume you two have meet, since you are in the same year."

Those eyes flickered over to him. Draco just blinked then turned back to his picture, deciding it wasn't worth the effort. Bear said a few other things then left, leaving Weasley alone with him. Draco didn't look up though.

Instead he turned the page and began a new drawing. He started with the eyes; the eyes were always the most important part.

"So this is where you've been all year Malfoy?" Ron's tone was as caustic as ever. Draco glanced up briefly; admiring the way locks of red caught the sunlight from outside and gleamed gold. It was a very nice effect, when you considered it.

It was a shame it had to be on the Weasel though. But he supposed this meant he could no longer say he had no redeeming qualities, he had very attractive hair, if that counted for anything to anyone.

"What'd you do anyway?" Ron asked, looking around. "I mean I always knew it was only a matter of time before you snapped, but I always thought it'd be all over the papers and stuff. Not locked up in a distant part of Hogwarts."

This was probably why he'd always found the redhead so damn grating. He talked entirely too fucking much. What'd a person have to do to get a person to shut up around here, kill them? Shit.

"I don't suppose you tried to kill anyone? Nothing I should be aware of, right?" Ron asked, frowning slightly.

"He doesn't talk." A soft whispery voice. Draco craned his neck and say Travis, one of four seventh year students. (Five if Draco was to count Ron) He'd been a Ravenclaw until his third year, when he'd unexplainably swallowed a mixture of hazardous chemicals in Potions.

They still didn't know why and so he was still here, in level one. Draco imagined he'd be the same way. He'd stay all year then be transferred away with other crazy people somewhere. After all, people that don't talk and have to be force-fed were usually considered a little nutters.

Draco tended to disagree but no one seemed to care what he thought anymore.

"Are you kidding? Usually he won't shut the hell up." Ron peered at him anxiously. Those blue eyes were staring at him…staring through him. "Hey, what happened to your face?"

Those eyes, staring. Seeing everything, prying where they weren't fucking wanted. Trying to see him, trying to open him up and see what was inside…

Why did everyone want to be inside?

Ron jumped back with a yelp, holding his face where Draco had lashed out. Blood streamed down pale skin and stained Draco's fingertips. He stood on his feet, breathing deeply and scowling at the redhead, who'd fallen to his knees.

He wondered if he should say something.

Too late, one of the 'guards' grabbed him and dragged him towards the back, where his bed was. It really wasn't necessary; he would have walked if they asked. It was nothing personal against the Weasel; he just was tired of people trying to get inside of him.

Well, okay, maybe it was a little personal as well. He really didn't like Ron, who could blame him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You shouldn't stare." Travis said lightly, wandering over to the table. "He doesn't like that much. That's why he has to away from everyone else."

Ron glared at the teen with the one eye that wasn't currently bleeding. Professor Bear came out from the back where they'd dragged Ron's least favorite blond git and looked down at him, wringing his hands nervously. Then he did a double-take, before grabbing him by the wrist and all but dragging him towards the door and into the hallway that lead back into 'Normal Hogwarts Land', as Ron had just now decided to call it.

Maybe it had something to do with the blood running down the side of his face. Just a small theory he'd cooked up out of the blue.

"We'll get you right to the medical ward and take care of that eye. I should have warned you before hand I suppose, Mr. Malfoy is very sensitive about his appearance."

Ron nodded. He supposed that he'd be sensitive too if someone had burned a snake onto the side of his face and then he had to put up with people staring at him all day. But he wondered why it was there.

And why Draco was there.

And why he'd had his eye clawed at.

Mostly why his eye had been clawed at. It wasn't like he'd meant to stare. It was just hard not to. A big black snake really stood out among all that pale skin and shiny white hair.

He was a little dizzy all of a sudden.

The world went gray around the edges and then black and he could hear someone calling his name but he decided he'd really just rather sleep right now.

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Normally this is where I answer questions and just in general thank you for taking the time read my stuff but erhm…having issues with my email alerts. oh well. Love you guys anyway.


	3. This Life

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Chapter Two

This Life

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_Seamus Finnagan_

_Journal Entry Three_

_Seventh Year_

_Number 084509_

OOOOOOOO

I wasn't planning to write in this, really, but you (Bare) say I can't move past level one if I don't do it. I still wasn't going to write in it but Dean says that I should. So…I guess I should. Dean's never steered me wrong before.

I like Dean. It probably seems like a silly thing to say, what with him being my best friend and all, but I really do. More than I should I guess, because people keep telling me that we're too close and spend too much time together. Or at least they used to tell me that.

People don't say much of anything to be anymore and I kind of like it that way.

Dean doesn't write in his journal, he draws. He and Malfoy have special permission from Dumbledore to draw and so they get…stuff to draw with and paper and paints and I'm not supposed to touch any of it (safety reasons) but Dean lets me play with the paints sometimes anyway.

No one cares if Dean draws in his journal because that's how he expresses himself. I've looked in there once and I wouldn't yell at him either. Everything he draws is so…perfect, down to even the smallest possible detail and I wonder how he can do all of that all of the time.

I wonder what's in his head sometimes. Mostly because I don't know what's in mine anymore. Sometimes it's like I'm not myself anymore or that I'm still me but there are a lot of…me all scattered throughout and I can't seem to pull myself together anymore. I'm starting to not know who I am and the only time I really feel like Seamus anymore is when I'm with Dean.

It's the 'trauma' I suppose. Everyone knows it already, but I had a very…unlucky run in with Death Eaters over the summer. I was one of those people rescued from Hell, as I so fondly call it, and I guess that's where I started to fracture. Things…happened that certain parts of me can't remember and that parts that do remember keep them locked away tight somewhere so the rest of me can never find out and it's like…

It's made me different people.

I wrote that already didn't I? I repeat myself a lot I guess.

I wish I could tell about what happened, so that I could get out of here, but I only remember some of the times and I can never remember what I remembered later, when I could tell someone and it'd be useful. That didn't make any sense.

I never do though. At least I don't make any sense to myself.

I think I make sense to Dean, because why else would he still be here, listening to everything I say even when I start to ramble nonsense and nothing I say seems to connect to anything else, and it's like I'm just floating out there with everything exposed but unable to hold onto it, no matter how absurd I'm sure it has to sound to him?

So.

I like Dean. He's really…steady. Like a wall or something. But sometimes I think he knows the things that I don't know but I can't get him to tell me. He just smiles and tells me that I shouldn't worry about things I've forgotten because I must have forgotten them for a reason.

But I think there are things I forget that I want to know about. Things about Dean and me, that seem to lurk around the edges of my mind and call to me with voices like sweetness and I can just start to see things, good things, when my mind shuts down on me again.

Sometimes I wonder why he's here, since I don't think he's crazy or anything. If I ask he just tells me that sometimes he's not as in control of things as he should be and I really just have no idea what in the hell that might mean.

But I trust him.

Ron's here now. Dean laughed when he found out and said it's just like old times. All we need is for Neville to lose it too and as much as the gang as possible will be all here. Cause Harry's dead. Dumbledore came and told everyone a few days ago, except for a few kids like Malfoy and the girl who never leaves her room.

Dean said its only right we welcome Ron to Atlantis proper like so I guess that's what we're doing once he wakes up. He has an eye patch from where Malfoy scratched him up. He must have been looking at the mark; Malfoy doesn't like it when people look at him.

I understand that, I guess. Sometimes, when I'm alone with people who aren't Dean or Malfoy I get really upset if they look at me or try to touch me or even get close to me. It just…it's like suddenly I don't fit in my skin and they can see how I don't fit and it makes me crazy to know that they can see me struggling against my ill-fitting shell and I don't want them to see it and I can…I can lose it sometimes.

Those are the only times I can believe I should be here.

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Ron groaned, blinking in annoyance against the light beating down on him and managing to get in even though his eyes were shut tight. He heard a whispered voice above him and, even though he knew full well he wasn't going to see anything he liked when he opened his eyes, he did.

Pale green eyes peered at him from very, very, close. He yelped and rose his arm to slap at the figure but found he couldn't. Something, a hand, grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and kept him from doing it. The owner of the green eyes drew back, looking bewildered. With the face further way he could now make out more than the eyes and sighed.

"Seamus?" The blond smiled widely. Ron sighed, already knowing who was holding him. "You can let me go now Dean."

He heard the quiet chuckle of the other teen before his wrist was released. He sat up and sighed. "What're you two doing in here?"

"You're in our room actually." Dean said while sitting on the bottom of his bed carefully so as not to jar the redhead. He probably didn't need anymore shocks. Seamus had no such reservations and practically belly flopped onto the bed, giggling as he did. "Nice eye patch."

"Wha-" Ron trailed off as the memory of what had happened came back and smacked him in the face. He reached up and touched the place where his eye had been and came in contact with smooth fabric. Now that he was aware of that he was also aware that something itchy was rubbing against the skin of his cheek and forehead. He felt along the areas of the itching and figured it must have been gauze under the patch scratching him.

Great. Now he was even more bandaged up.

Seamus sat up, noting Ron's look of annoyance, and smiled widely. "I think it's sexy. Very…dangerous pirate like."

Ron tried not to smile but failed. "Thanks Seamus." He yawned and stretched some while letting his hand fall to the side. "What's going on?"

"Dean says we should give you a proper welcome since Malfoy tried to take out your eye and everything. We heard it was really bloody and-" Seamus was bouncing slightly. Dean reached over and ran a hand down his back, a sign for him to calm down. He turned, blinking at the taller boy, looking back at Ron. "Anyway. Since we're all rooming together again we thought it'd be nice to show you around and stuff like that. I think it'll be fun."

"Oh." Ron nodded slightly bewildered by Seamus's explanation. "Sure. I guess."

Dean's lips quirked into a soft smile. "Go find Bare and tell him we're showing Ron around." Seamus mock-saluted him before bouncing off of the bed and out of the room, carefully winding his way around Travis who was sleeping on the floor. Again. He did that a lot. Dean wasn't sure why. Didn't really care. "Don't mind him. He's like that a lot now."

"Huh. I know he was easily amused before but that was almost…almost…" Ron looked at Dean for help in finding a word to describe how Seamus had been acting. Dean frowned for a moment, considering what to say next.

Most people he didn't allow to talk about Seamus, because they rarely if ever had anything decent to say about his friend, but Ron was different. Ron knew.

"Childlike." He said finally. "He can be, sometimes. Since They got him."

"Is that why he's here?" Ron asked, frowning slightly.

Seamus had gone missing after a trip to Hogsmead in their sixth year. They'd looked for him all over, especially Dean, but they hadn't found him. It hadn't been until the end that they knew he'd been grabbed by Death Eaters. Not for any real reason, since he hadn't been involved in the war or known anything…he's just been an easy target.

His parents had tossed him aside before then, not liking how close he was to Dean, and people had eventually just written him off as running away. Except for Dean of course. He'd known Seamus wouldn't run away, not from him at least. He hadn't been able to convince anyone else of that unfortunately.

That was probably when he began to slip a little bit. He'd left home. His parents had been 'sorry' that his boyfriend had just up and vanished in the middle of a war, but hadn't really cared that much. Left Hogwarts before the end of the year; hadn't been able to take being in that place and knowing only a handful of people gave a damn.

And then they'd found Seamus, a broken and nearly empty…shell and he couldn't help but remember how few people had been able to look him in the eye when he came to St. Mungos, shortly after Ron had sent him an owl letting him know Seamus was found.

He remembered how Ron had been sitting outside of Seamus' room, head bowed and eyes nearly shut. He'd smiled thinly and said he was just making sure nothing else happened to anyone else he knew before getting up and leaving.

Ron liked to beat himself up for a lot of stuff and both teens knew that Seamus fell into the category of things he blamed himself about. Maybe if he'd looked harder instead of letting people tell him the blond had just left, maybe if he'd have believed Dean.

"Yeah. I took him to see a Muggle shrink; the stress of his ordeal has caused his personality to fracture into parts that can deal with it and parts that don't remember it. Only it's like…the parts that don't remember don't remember don't remember anything that was complex or difficult or…"

He stopped and shrugged, feeling a little helpless. To say it was difficult that Seamus only remembered how close they'd really been some of the time was…stressful. To say the least of it. The times he did remember he was so close to being the way he'd been before it almost hurt to even think about because he knew they'd only be ruined by the return of the parts that didn't soon.

Ron watched Dean for a moment, having a feeling he knew what Dean was trying to get at. He cringed at the thought of Seamus just…forgetting everything that had gone on. Even watching from the outside he'd seen that Seamus had been hurt by his parents when they kicked him out and how much Dean cared about his boyfriend.

When Seamus had gone missing Dean had been…crushed seemed to be putting it too mildly, not doing how completely broken the other teen had been justice. He hadn't really thought anyone their age could feel like that for someone but sometimes it was as if Seamus was the only thing that mattered in Dean's life.

"I tried to slit my wrists." He said, wincing at how dead and hollow the words sounded. He wasn't even sure why he said it, except that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Dean smiled slightly then titled his head to the side. "Up or across?"

"Up."

"Get dressed. We'll be outside the door." He nodded then slid off of the bed. "Oh. If you're curious…I killed people."

Ron blinked. Dean smiled crookedly then walked out, walking around Travis on force of habit. Ron was left to think over the possibilities of Dean killing someone. He'd known Dean since he was a kid and…he'd always been quiet and peaceful, the occasional blatant foul in Quidditch aside.

He wasn't violent.

Then again a lot of people were a lot of things they weren't supposed to be.

OOOOOOOOOOO

_Dean Thomas_

_Journal Entry Seven_

_Year Seven_

_Number 201064_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

I don't like words much. They're stupid. They can be twisted, changed to mean things that no one really meant to say in the first place. They're flawed, imperfect…and so I don't like them. It's entirely too easy to lie with words.

I didn't talk much as a child and I remember how it drove my mother crazy. She'd try to coax me to speak or to play with the other children who lived around us but I wouldn't do anything except sit and watch or draw. I wasn't big on the more social things, though I was an avid soccer fan and my parents milked that for all it was worth, going so far as to make me join a local team.

It didn't last long. I was a bit of a control freak and no ten year old kid likes to be ordered around by another ten year old.

When I came to Hogwarts and met Seamus, who seems like he's the exact opposite of me in a lot of ways, things…changed for me. Slipped a little out of my control because Seamus refused to be anything except for Seamus. My suggestions that he do his work, take notes in class, or at least not talk back to the teachers all went unheeded and while anyone else would have made me strangle them Seamus just…made me fall for him.

The one thing I could never control is the only thing worth holding onto. I heard a lot from people about our being together; everything from it just being wrong to us not being old or mature enough to understand what we were getting in to.

But even if I had been inclined to listen it wouldn't have mattered. Seamus was like…a force of nature. No, that's a stupid cliché. He was more than that, so much more. I can't even begin to put it into words, which is another reason I don't like them. They're so limited.

I know I don't have to write in here, but I wanted to better make you understand why I did what I did. Why I'm hear. What would drive quiet, calm, and unshakeable Dean to murder.

I'm not crazy. At least I don't think I'm crazy and, from what I understand, crazy people never think they're crazy so maybe I am. It's a Catch 22 in a way; If a crazy man doesn't know he's crazy and only a sane man can begin to acknowledge that maybe he isn't sane, but thinking you might not be sane probably means that there's something wrong with you to begin with…

It's complex.

Still, I don't think I'm crazy. I'm just…angry.

Seamus has always been this thing I can't understand or grasp or control or force; he was always just the thing that both frustrated me and excited me. And now he isn't anymore. He's not even half the person he was before and where I wanted to touch and feel and be with him before now all I can do is hope to protect him. I would have never thought of protecting him before, he wouldn't have needed it.

But now...sometimes he's so confused and lost and helpless and it's terrible and sickening and I want to tear apart the people who made him this way and all there is…is just this rage, inside of me, burning and bubbling away at where my heart used to be.

I killed Peter Pettigrew, and the elder Goyle and Crabbe on the Hogwarts Express when the Death Eaters who'd managed to escape attacked. I killed them because Seamus took one look at them and all but collapsed into a sobbing shivering mass and I wanted to make them pay for it.

And so I'm crazy.

Supposedly.

I still say it's debatable.

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Pirate: Well, Ron angst is one of my favorite things to write, HP-wise, so we'll have plenty of it. It's just so much fun to write…

Mechante: Glamour Lust wasn't too bruised, no, so there should be a new part soon. I was focused on something else and was only putting up things I had pre-written but now I'm cool again so I should he starting a new chapter today. And yes, even evil-ish people love their families. Unfortunately for Draco not everyone can understand that.

Meep: Too few chapters? I can fix that, I believe.

Skep: I'm glad you liked it the first time, I think this version should be better.


	4. Shouldn’t be this difficult to breath

Atlantis

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Chapter Three

Shouldn't be this difficult to breath

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"You know why I'm here, don't you?" Professor Dumbledore asked, fixing a very disapproving look on to Draco. He blinked, tugging at the bounds keeping him tethered to the bed, then shrugged. Dumbledore sighed softly.

"You tried to claw Ronald Weasley's eye out. You could have blinded him, if Poppy hadn't seen him in time. As it is he'll be wearing an eye patch for months while his eye grows--"

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. Yes, yes he understood all of that. He just wanted to know why this old coot was pestering him instead of Severus. The other man was really much better company than the headmaster was.

Dumbledore stared at him, expression going from scolding to worried. "You know my boy this would really be much easier if you would speak."

Draco just stared. Somehow or another Dumbledore would figure it out. He always did. Maybe he had some kind of psychic power or something. Finally Dumbledore blinked him the sighed and nodded, apparently reaching a decision.

"I hadn't…but I suspect it may be best coming from me and not one of the other students." Draco decided he didn't like the sound of that and turned his gaze to the glass pitcher sitting on the desk across the room from his bed. "The Hogwarts Express was attacked on its way here, by some of the remaining Death Eaters, looking for vengeance of some sort. Thankfully, injuries and casualties were minimal. However, it was unforeseeable that Cho Chang had changed sides and went after Mr. Potter-"

Draco held up a hand for Dumbledore to stop. He was already tired of the tale and just wanted to hear the end result, though he already suspected what he was about to be told."

"Severus and Mr. Potter both perished in the fight."

Draco arched an eyebrow. Potter was dead? Is that why the Weasel had decided to join the rest of the deeply disturbed down here? Couldn't take the pain?

Draco really wanted to think something scathing about Weasley's apparent inability to cope with a little bit of loss but he found that his chest ached and something in his head was wailing and he knew why… Severus was dead. The man had been far from a saint or anything of that matter, but he'd been one of the few to actually help him when he'd needed it.

Not to mention the only family Draco had left.

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Draco Malfoy

Journal Entry Six

Year Seven

Number: 191213

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I don't like this whole…writing thing and I certainly don't like the idea of someone reading this later but…what's it matter anyway?

"Malfoy." The cold voice reached out and seemed to seep into my body, waking me from my restless sleep. I opened my eyes slowly, as they'd crusted shut with a mixture of sleep, sweat, and blood after I'd passed out.

My arms were stretched above my head, as I was suspended for what looked like a beam in the ceiling by silver chains. My feet just touch the floor, which was cool and slick to the touch. Or had been, I was kind of numb now. I wondered aimlessly how long I'd been up here. I found I didn't mind this so much…but before, that's what had been bad. This was almost a walk in the park compared to that.

I recalled my father telling me once that the worst torture a person could endure was the lost of control over oneself and that Death Eaters were masters of that art. I'd learned that this was very much the truth. There is nothing quite as…humiliating and soul-crushing as losing control of your body under the hands of someone you hate.

I would have preferred they'd killed me, to be brutally honest. At least then it would have been quick. It'd been so long since my parents had vanished, so long since I'd been placed under constant supervision…and then, finally, the Dark Lord had grown wary of mollifying me and decided to drop the act he had his followers putting on for me.

He had no need for me after all, what was I but a foolish boy? He'd have seen me dead, but decided that his followers were entitled to a warm body for their efforts.

Severus Snape, my godfather as well as my parents' best, and maybe only true, friend. He had been surprisingly absent the last few…however long it'd been. I'd lost track of days and nights and it'd all sort of blended together in my mind. It was like on continuous nightmare, stretching on for hours and hours with no end in sight…

"I hear you've been stubborn." He said, crossing his arms over his chest. I smiled crookedly. If by stubborn he meant unwilling to be anything but smug and lofty, as Malfoys were taught to be early on, than yes…I'd been stubborn. You could never let them see you break.

You took in the pain, swallowed the humiliation, rode out the suffering, and accepted the ugliness they inflected upon you because…because the moment you let yourself slip they had won. But if they grew weary of you and killed you, you'd won.

I didn't know if they'd grow weary before I cracked. I could fell the mask slipping away already. As the days wore on, becoming an abstract painting in my brain, and one torture bleed into another, I was beginning to forget things.

Forget the proper response, forget what my parents would have done…I was forgetting why I was going this far. Even forgetting who I was at times.

The pain was overwhelming and it made my mind shut down at times. It was like I could see things, through the eyes of some distant unattached person, but I didn't understand them anymore.

I wondered if that had anything to do with the numbness setting into my body.

"And to think, your father doubted your Malfoy Pride." Severus said, eyes roaming my body. "You are aware your parents are dead, aren't you?"

I nodded. I'd known the very first day that they were gone. I was many things, but I would never be accused of being a fool. Not to my face at least.

Calloused hands touched my cheek and I jerked back on instinct, bile rising in my throat. No more hands…god, I couldn't take anyone else touching me. I didn't want anymore hands, any more…bodies. I couldn't take it, those touches in mockery of gentle caresses…

His hand stopped and for a moment it just hung there, unmoving and rigid, before he dropped it to his side and turned away from me. His hands clenched and I sighed, slumping forward.

I wanted him to kill me. I think I would have appreciated that more than anything. I managed to say as much, though it was far from easy. Nary a sound had left my lips in a very long time and my voice was dry and hoarse with disuse.

He shut his eyes. "And why would you offer me the esteemed pleasure of ending your life?"

"Because if you do it," My voice sounded so empty to my own ears. "I know it'll be because you care. If they do it, its because they've gotten bored."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Very profound. I suspect you've have much time to think. I will…see what I can do. One more day Draco, and you'll get out one way or another."

I closed my eyes and just hung there, considering that. One more day.

One more.

One more.

I'd been here that long. One day would be fine.

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Ron sighed, rubbing his wrists anxiously as he watched the scene. Mourning…everyone was mourning. The Great Hall was done in black and every table was solemn, save the Slytherin Table. They all looked smug, as if they'd triumphed over something.

And they had, after a fashion.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Dared-To-Live, the Golden Boy, the one who stood to oppose their lord even at the cost of his own life…had finally done just that. Lost his life.

And Severus Snape was finally exposed for what he was. A spy, a betrayer, one who had turned his back upon Voldemort and dared to take information to Dumbledore and the side of Light, sending their best laid plans into shambles.

Severus had caused almost as much, if not more, trouble and failure than Harry Potter had managed to.

Dumbledore rose to give his little speech and Ron lashed out, kicking down the screen. They were all watching on an enchanted screen the memorial service for the two fighters. (Except for Seamus, Dean, and Malfoy, who were all absent) Ron really wasn't in the mood for it.

Professor Bare just shot him a long-suffering look, of one who was used to the mood swings of teenage boys, then set about setting the screen back up. He stormed out, at a loss for what else he could do, and went down the first hall he saw.

He didn't know where it led, but was content to fallow it until he managed to get rid of the…emotions that threatened to spill over. Any mention of Harry made his entire…being ache with a sort of pain he would have never imagined. All consuming numbing pain.

And he couldn't get the scene out of his head. Cho Chang in all her tall toned glory, had raised up her wand to hex her hapless boyfriend, who could only stare with wide green eyes.

Then Snape, coming from almost no where, and moving in the line of the shot. Then the flash, purple and green light, filling the train and…nothing.

Absolutely nothing. To him it was like shutting his eyes and then opening them in the infirmary, to see Remus holding a crying Hermione as Dumbledore broke the news.

Then black again…

He'd failed his best friend. Fucking…failed.

He had…

What?

He took a step back and peered into a room. Inside were a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a desk, and a bookshelf. Against he far wall, next to the desk, was a window seat which gave a nice view of the lake. Half of the window was underwater and Ron could see mere people swimming past.

The memory of the encounter he'd had with them in his fourth year made his chest tighten up.

Then his attention turned back to the bed, where Draco Malfoy was strapped down. His face was turned from Ron and towards the window and his eyes were open, but seemed to be staring into nothing.

That was something Ron understood. For a long time he'd felt…nothing. He'd seen nothing, felt nothing, had been…nothing but numb. He'd rather enjoyed that.

Then Draco glanced over at him and Ron noted that his eyes were blood shot and his skin was stained with tracks left by tears. Ron blinked, a little taken aback, then looked around.

Suddenly he felt as if he were intruding upon a…very intimate moment, not meant for his, or anyone else's eyes. Maybe…Especially not his eyes.

He really didn't like this sudden stirring in his chest at the sight of Draco Malfoy, his enemy and bane upon his life, crying for…crying for what, he didn't know. He didn't want to know, because knowing would make it real and he didn't…he couldn't have it be anymore real.

None of this could be real. None of it.

He wouldn't let it be real.

Because if this was real then Harry was really gone, Seamus was really fucked up, Dean was really…something, and he was really in here and insane and…he didn't want to be crazy. He didn't want to be here.

He couldn't let this be real.

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Ronald Weasley

Journal Entry One

Seventh Year

Number: 071823

The subject of this first entry, according to Professor Bear, is when my 'self-destructive' behavior began and how it spiraled out of control. I, of course, have no idea what the hell that means, and thus I'm not sure how the answer it, but I think I have a general sort of idea, maybe.

It was in my fifth year, after Sirius died. I was just sitting with Harry, because he was crying. He wouldn't let anyone else see it, but I'm good old dependable Ron, so it's okay to let me see this sort of thing. He doesn't have to be strong around me if he didn't want to.

I had my legs stretched out in front of me and for some reason that I can't remember his head was pillowed on my lap and I was running my fingers through his hair.

And, for just a moment, I hated him. Hated the death that followed him like a plague, hated the danger that seemed to be more reliable that me at times…the only thing you could even count on where Harry was concerned. I hated the self-hate I saw in his eyes, hated the way he was slowly being pushed to a edge…

What edge I didn't know, but I knew he wasn't the Harry I'd met at King's Cross five years ago, and I hated him for changing. I hated him for our second year and putting my sister in danger. I hated him for nearly having me eaten by spiders and killed in a chess game.

I hated him for every injury I'd ever gotten, for every time I'd had to put something on hold because Harry needed his every faithful best friend at his side. I hated him because I was so damn dependable, because I was expected to be at his side.

I hated him for…everything.

And then he looked up at me, with these glassy emerald eyes, all red around the green and the black in the center much wider than it'd been before. His nose was running a little bit and his cheeks were splotchy and red and he looked…so pathetic.

And I wondered how I could hate something so weak and frail and I wondered why it had to be him and I wondered if I had any right to not want to be at his side if he needed me.

I should have been…grateful or something. At least someone wanted me. Most people didn't give me a second thought, didn't need me around…

Harry was different. I don't know why.

And I hated myself for hating him.

I think that's when it began, in a way. But not how it became truly…bad.

I sat up, sucking in breath as if I'd just been saved from drowning. My entire body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and I remember how it gleamed in the moonlight. It was our sixth year and the dorm was as silent as it was supposed to be at this hour. (Around two in the morning if I recall correctly)

And I'd just had a nightmare.

I'd turned my back on everyone. Turned my back, left them alone, betrayed them, and just…stopped. I didn't come when they called, I didn't listen when they spoke…

And they'd died. All of them. Everyone I'd ever known and cared about lay at my feet, cold and empty because I'd forgotten what I was there for. Because I'd been selfish, because I'd wanted to be normal. Because I wanted to be 'Ron', not…not what they made me into.

My heart hammered in my chest and I felt sick to my stomach all of a sudden. I all but fell from my bed and ran to the bathroom. I made it just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet. My throat burned and my eyes watered and one of my hands clutched my arm so hard I felt a trickle of blood flow down my arm. I say on the floor for a moment, not daring to so much as breath.

Then I looked down at the small half-moon cuts I'd made and ran my finger tips over the rapidly cooling stream of blood. The pinpricks of pain distracted my brain and began to push the dream away. Already the image of eyes, wide open and lifeless eyes, staring at me accusingly, demanding to know where I'd been, what I'd done, why I'd failed them…

Distraction. I needed…a distraction. Pain was a distraction.

I needed pain.

Pain is truly a funny thing. An addicting thing. You hurt and suddenly your body sends all sorts of fun chemicals through your bodies, because your brain is sending little pain messages all over the place and your body instinctively wants to heal itself.

What does your body care if you're the one hurting it? It still gives you that little boost and suddenly all the hurt fades away and there is this…wonderful sort of floating feeling, a high almost, that you want more and more. That you need.

I needed it so much. I needed to feel okay. I needed to be happy. I needed to forget that I hated my best friend and everything he stood for, because he wasn't really any of that stuff. I hated him for being weak when he should have been strong. I hated that I had to be strong for him…

Because I couldn't even be strong for myself. I didn't know how.

Pain can come in a variety of ways and I'd like to think I'd explored a few of them…some are more effective than others, some are easier to hide, some make you sick and wear away at your body, slowly but surely killing you, and others still are 'typical'.

But I think pain is one of those constant things, one of those absolutes in life. The only thing you can be sure about every day of your life is that you will feel pain at some point and that, eventually, you will die. You can't be sure when which is going to hit, or if pain will lead to death or if death will be painful…

But you can be sure they will be there.

But you aren't supposed to be sure. You aren't supposed to think about those sort of things, because its not normal or okay to think about what death would be like or want to analyze all of the types of pain and part of me doesn't really get why.

Then again, I don't get much of anything.

I think I used to get things. I guess I must have gotten something to be good ole' dependable Ron, I must have understood things once upon a time.

It is really hard to remember.

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Don't you love the completely random length of these chapters…?

Saturn: You actually pegged Seamus' dilemma pretty well and, by default, Dean's problem. Seamus seems happy like this but he can't really be happy because happiness is the thing that happens when you're no longer sad or upset and as far as Seamus is aware he's never not happy. Confused, yes, but not upset. Dean however doesn't really realize this, for all his Seamus based wisdom, and so as much as he wants his Seamus back he doesn't want to risk breaking him further by telling him the truth about what happened to him. He thinks Seamus is happy and so he's content to leave it at that. We will be talking about Travis later, he actually has a role (that's why he keeps popping up) and at the moment the boys are stuck in this…space of not knowing about the outside world so, by default, neither do we. I like the rambling, it means you're thinking which means I'm doing a good job.

Mechante: Ahh…yeah. I'm not going to be posting as much until I graduate because of some…school related difficulties. But I promise something every week…what, I can't say, but something. And you're right about Dean, it sucks but at the same time he's got what he wants, however flawed Seamus may be at present. Dean was a little unbalanced before he killed anybody, but that's another chapter…

Meep: In my head, of course.


	5. The Way Its Going to Be

Atlantis

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Chapter Four

How's it Going to Be

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Journal Entry Two

Ronald Weasley

Seventh Year

Number: 071823

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I'd like to think the day started normally. My mother shouted for me to wake up, because today was the day I started my final year at Hogwarts. I got ready, ate, and walked over to the fireplace. We'd be traveling by floo this year and I could tell, just by the look on his face, Harry would have preferred to walked the entire way alone than go this way.

It was funny in a way. Deatheaters and all sorts of nasty things he faced with little problem, but traveling by floo almost made him sick. Mum wouldn't be going this year, as she had to stay home with the new baby.

Don't ask me whose idea it was to go adding new Weasleys to the family, because I certainly wasn't consulted on the matter, but it'd happened anyway. Another girl, much to Ginny's delight, with the typical bright red curls and wide brown eyes.

Hermione and Ginny had spent much of the summer playing and cooing over the baby. I didn't understand the allure myself, at least for Ginny. Sharon, the baby, was here every day and would be here everyday for the next few years, what in the world did she want to spend so much time around her for?

I think it's a girl thing and if that's the case, I'm just not meant to understand it. I don't think I'll ever really understand girls…I don't think I really want to though.

Harry looked really pale when he stepped into the fireplace. The fire surged up and then Harry spun out of sight. I pulled my trunk in, waving goodbye to Mum, then tossed my handful.

"Hogwart's Express!"

Personally, I kind of like traveling through fireplaces. If you're quick you can catch all sort of strange things. I'm pretty sure I saw a woman pouring a cup of tea to a goat, but I was gone before I could really get a good look. I came to a halt and, still pondering the sight I may have seen, all but tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face.

Thankfully a hand grasped my shoulder and held me upright. I turned and looked up into the smiling face of Remus Lupin. He'd taught our Third Year Defense Against the Dark Arts class and had cropped up every now and then since.

Not as often as we would have liked, but I always had the feeling he was wary of growing too…attached to us, in a way. After all, all of his friends had died, or betrayed him. I'd be a little hesitant to get to know anyone as well.

I'd shared this theory with Hermione once and her eyes had gotten all watery before she tackled me in a great hug and went on and on about how she'd never thought I could be so considerate and thoughtful. I still have no idea what she was talking about.

"Hello Remus." Harry said, smiling slightly. Hedwig, who was in her cage, hooted what very well could have been a greeting as well. "What're you doing here?"

"Going to see Dumbledore. He needs my help for something, though I'd be lying if I said I knew what it was." Remus chuckled then shoved his hands into his pockets. I wonder if he felt a little strange, a grown man talking to a bunch of teenagers.

I didn't ask though. I was pretty sure that'd be rude.

My brother Bill and Ginny stepped out a moment later. Remus and Bill held back, to discuss one thing or another, and the four of us set about getting on board. Students were milling around, anxious for the new year, but I couldn't help by notice that once again the number of kids I knew had shrunk. Not just because I was a seventh year, and everyone I'd known seven years ago had graduated, but because ever since fifth year parents had been pulling their kids from Hogwarts.

I suppose, for some, having their child that close to the infamous Boy-Who-Lived, and constant target of The Dark Lord's wrath, was just too much of a risk to run. Harry liked to pretend he didn't know why the students were leaving and he also pretended it didn't bother him…

Now that Voldemort was gone you'd have thought things would be better, that we could all magically be happy again but that…wasn't happening. Too much had happened I think and nothing could possible be the same.

But, while I might not be winning a contest for Smartest Weasley Ever, I know when my best friend is lying to me. And it kind of hurt that he couldn't be honest.

Not that I was exactly the most honest guy in the world. But the things…the things I had problems with, weren't things I could tell anyone about. How could I possible explain the things in my head to anyone else? They'd just think I was insane.

Sometimes I thought I was insane.

I rubbed my arm self-consciously, thoughts suddenly turned to something I didn't want to think about, as I sat down next to Hermione. She smiled at me almost shyly then looked away, cheeks turning pink, and I had to fight not to let out the sigh of frustration I felt bubbling up inside me.

Hermione was perfect. I think…I know that if I were a better person, I'd be in love with her, and we'd get married and the world would be…fantastic. She'd make a wonderful wife, and partner, and she'd…do for me what Mum did for Dad and…

I don't know.

It shouldn't have mattered. She was dating Harry and that should have been the end of it. But it wasn't, not really, because she blushed when she looked at me and sometimes I swore Harry had his eyes on my sister and it was just all…so…wrong.

And confusing.

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, trying to focus on…something. Anything. Just clear my mind and not think about Hermione and why I didn't love her, and why I felt so…empty sometimes.

…

It wasn't working. My mind was determined to make me think about it. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw they were playing cards and were, per usual, paying me no mind. So I closed my eyes again. Maybe I could sleep or something.

I woke up feeling very sick. I excused myself, trying to keep my tone normal. I noticed Remus was in the compartment as well, sitting off to the side and watching my friends. He had this strange…thoughtful look on his face, like he was remembering something.

None of my friends noticed me, beyond the fact I had to climb over Ginny to get out, but I saw Remus give me a questioning look. I just shrugged and he nodded before turning back to watch the others. I walked out, reminding myself to breath and not run.

Because running didn't solve anything. It'd just draw attention and the last thing I wanted was attention. The thing I wanted most, as this particular moment, was to find the bathroom.

I found it eventually. I knew where it was all along, but for some odd reason couldn't make myself remember. My head was foggy all of a sudden and a dull ache pounded right behind my eyes. I shut the door behind me, and then let out a shaky breath. I leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, noticing that my hand was trembling.

How weird.

I closed my eyes and rubbed at the bridge of my nose, willing the ache to go away. With my free hand I rubbed at my arm again…it felt as if it were itching. My entire arm felt like tiny…bugs were walking across it, stinging me with every step.

See? Like I said, losing my mind.

I pushed my sleeve up, glancing down, even though I knew what I'd find there. Long jagged pink marks. Mostly healing up. I twisted my arm and, with a sick sort of fascination, admired my 'handiwork'. On the underside of my wrist I'd carved the word 'loyalty', after a disturbing dream I'd had in my sixth year. I'd come to terms with the fact I'd scared myself permanently and learned from that mistake.

Then again, maybe I'd done it on purpose. So I wouldn't forget. I was loyal, I was a friend and a brother, and I had people I had to…protect, always. I could…afford to let them down, so I had to be loyal. I couldn't let my self forget that, ever.

I let my fingers drift up further. 'Careful' in raised white flesh. That'd been an interesting one. More blood than I'd thought could come from such shallow wounds. Lots of letters. I was pretty sure I'd passed out after the 'l', since I think I was aiming for 'carefully'.

Up more, to my shoulder. 'Courage'. 'Bravery'. 'Dependable'. 'Strong'.

I didn't really understand the point of it all. It was just something I did, sometimes, because…because there was nothing else to do. Because I needed to remember these things, they were very important, because…people needed to be those things.

My siblings came to talk to me, for reasons I didn't understand. I never had any good advice, never really understood why they talked to be, but they did. Everything, every fear and concern just came pouring out when they came to talk to me. Hermione needed me to be these things, to be this person she'd come to know.

The one who'd follow his friends into hell with not a small amount of whining but no real qualms. The one who'd stand by her side, even when she was being a bitch, because I was her friend. Someone who'd risk being eaten by spiders when it was necessary.

She didn't need to know how afraid I was, how it ate me up…how I hated all of this. The death, the fleeing people, the way people avoided us and whispered about us, and how much I wanted to just turn away and say 'no more'.

She didn't need to know…she felt the same. But thinking that I never had those thoughts made her strong. It made her able.

And Harry…he just needed everything he could get. People seemed to drop like flies around him, from his parents to Sirius to Cedric…Harry liked seeing me and Hermione everyday and knowing we were still breathing and at his side.

It made it…worth it, maybe.

I didn't really get it, but I knew that when we were around, things were easier for Harry. So I was there.

I know its like; those are very deep thoughts for someone like me.

I'm aware. It's…a lot to think about sometimes. Sometimes I'd rather not think at all. Sometimes I'd rather not feel. Sometimes I'd like to curl up and sleep forever and never see the light of day…

I think, sometimes, Death would be a lot like that.

Quiet, like sleeping. Sleeping for a very long time, and never waking up. And I wouldn't be afraid, or brave, or dependable or falling apart. I wouldn't be anything. I'd be nothing, because that's what death is…nothing. No one is anything and everyone is nothing, because nothing is the only thing you can actually be, and I think that's what we all aspire to be.

Equal. Nothing. Gone.

Dead.

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"Mr. Weasley." Professor Bear arched an eyebrow at the red haired teen, who blinked up at him with frigid blue eyes. Well, eye actually, but the principal still stood. He'd been in the wing for two days, one of which had been spent unconscious and already most of the other students avoided him.

Bear repressed the urge to shiver. Ron was sitting arms crossed over his chest, while his quill scratched across the paper and his too-long hair fanning across his cheeks.

It was policy that the students not actually touch the quills, because of the nature of the situation they were all in.

"What?" He uncrossed his arms and the white gauze, which went from the base of his hand to his elbow, was a stark contrast against the all black he'd chosen to wear that day. The fact his skin was a snowy, washed out white didn't help him any.

"You have visitors."

Ron turned, glancing towards the door. A girl with the same flaming red hair as his, pulled into a high ponytail, was standing next to the door with a panicked look on her face. It was so obvious she didn't want to be down there. Next to her was a slightly taller brunette. Her hair was also pulled into a ponytail, though it was slightly frizzy and not as carefully done.

His lips pressed into a straight line.

"No."

His tone was cold and forceful. It drew the attention of the blond in the corner, who'd been sitting on the window seat with a sketchbook and carefully culled piece of drawing charcoal. Gray-blue eyes always seemed to take in everything impassively. But this time there was a flicker of interest.

"Mr. Weasley, you know the Headmaster said-"

"No."

"But they came all the way here just to check up on you." Bear said, trying to be as soothing as possible. The redhead had an infamous temper. He never got violent with anyone, but it was almost a fact he'd turn his anger onto himself, which was part of what had gotten him into the situation to begin with. "That was rather nice of them, don't you think."

"Don't patronize me." He muttered, watching the quill fly across his journal with mild interest. "You know I don't like being treated like some sort of ignorant…invalid." As he said this his eyes darted across to the blond. "Or a mute."

"Ron-" The smaller girl said softly, a torn look on her face. Like most, she didn't want to be there, the place had the air of the ward of the hospital they took critical patients to be 'made more comfortable'.

"I fucking said no!" The flare up was instant. He was on his feet and the table was knocked over. The chair fell with a bang. "I don't want to fucking see either of you! Just leave me the hell alone! Let me rot in peace, at least!"

His voice was a hoarse growl. The red haired girl's brown eyes welled with tears then she turned and ran down the hallway. The brunette's eyes narrowed as they lost all trace of wariness.

"How could you do that to her? You know you aren't the only one hurting; the least you could do is let Ginny know you're okay! She's so worried."

He growled. "If I was okay I wouldn't be down here. Just let me go out of my mind without the whole world watching and pitying me."

She was silent for a moment then turned and walked off at an even pace, as if trying to communicate that she wasn't being run off, she was choosing to leave. Ron was silent for a moment then, glaring at Bear hotly, stalked off. Bear sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew it was his job to take on violent and self-destructive teens, but somehow it hadn't seemed this…challenging in school.

He walked after the two girls, to see that they made it back to the main area of Hogwarts okay and weren't too broken up over the refused visit.

He didn't notice the three other seventh years in the room peering after him curiously, or the pale blond unfolding his legs and walking over to pick up the redhead's forgotten journal.

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I'm so tired of letting them down. I just keep letting people…down

My father and Percy died in the final attack on the Ministry, before the Death Eater stronghold was raided and Harry killed Voldemort. I never got to tell my father goodbye and I hadn't spoken to Percy in nearly two years and then they…were gone.

I wonder what my father would think of me now. I wonder how badly I've let him down.

My mother hasn't been well since and the twins are once again at home, trying to care for her. I'm sure the news that I'm 'disturbed' didn't help her situation any. Harry's gone and I couldn't do anything but stare numbly while he died. I couldn't even begin to save him.

…I don't want to let anyone else down. God, I can't let them see like this. All…bandaged up and crazy and writing with safety quills on rounded off paper…

I wish I'd just died.

They should have just let me die.

Why couldn't they just let me let go? I'm not sure how much longer I can do this; hold all of this together in my head. Everyone around me is picking up and moving on and I'm still…stuck in the same place I've been for months. I can't move on and I can't let go and I don't understand how anyone else could.

I don't know how Hermione can accept Harry's death and continue on, I don't know how the world is still turning with so many people I knew gone.

I can't understand why I'm the only one who has stopped.

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Moon: I love writing Ron when he's dysfunctional, which is probably why he's always a little nuts when I write…but, anyway, I'm glad you like it.

Mechante: Yeah…another ten or so days and I'm free! And then I'll be allowed on my computer whenever I want. I was actually planning on being a teacher, either English or Social Studies, but if that falls through I was thinking child psychology… So we'll see.

Crazy Loon: I don't mind rambling, it just means you're thinking about things and I love the idea of making people try to puzzle things out. Your assessment of Seamus is very accurate. He locked memories away until he eventually had to lock away 'Seamus' to keep up with all of the things he's phased out of his mind and it's changed who he is.

Okay then folks…review please. Makes the Author all warm and fuzzy inside.


	6. Imaginary

Atlantis

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Chapter Five  
Imaginary  
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Draco Malfoy

Journal Entry something or other

Year Seven

Number: 191213

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Severus got me out as promised, the very next day. But not before that final lasting punishment. The humiliation that will forever haunt me. The scar that will never fade.

And all of that other poetic shit I'm supposed to say about this lovely mark on my face in order to show that I'm searching the depths of my soul and all of that stuff. I feel like I should have an entire page worth of things to say about my new mark but really I have nothing beyond the truth.

The facts. Plain, simple, and laid out for your viewing pleasure.

I looked up at the sound of my prison creaking open. Part of me hoped for my potions master but I was rarely so optimistic in real life. So I was far from disappointed when the man I knew as Wormtail walked in. His teeth were a dull yellow color, exposed because of the way his dry and cracked lips were drawn back in a parody of sadism. His skin was washed out and gray, save for his gleaming silver arm, and his body flabby and rank with the stench of filth.

How quaint. Voldemort had sent his favorite little bet to come and finish me off.

It looked as if Severus would be able to keep his promise in a round about way. I'd get out, as I severely doubt I was to survive this little encounter, and the pain and torture would end. And I think, really, that I was okay with that prospect. I was just so tired all of a sudden.

"Let him down." Wormtail's voice echoed in the small room.

"Finally." My voice was a mere whisper but it lacked none of my carefully learned and perfected venom and acid. "I was beginning to lose feeling in my arms. I must inform you that these accommodations are ghastly."

Wormtail smiled and I winced internally. Had the man never heard of a toothbrush? "The Malfoy pride is a delicious thing you know. People were willing to kill each other for the chance to break your parents. I'm pleased to see you're every bit as stubborn."

I smiled wryly. "I was taught by the best."

I was dropped in that instant and hit the ground with a hard thud. Tiny prickles of pain ran through my legs and hands and I took a sort of delight in being able to feel something in my limbs. I was so glad to feel anything at all I didn't even acknowledge that it was pain. I didn't bother trying to get up, as it seemed unwise to show how weak I truly was. I wanted to leave a hint of question in their minds.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and set about rubbing full circulation back into my wrists, pointedly ignoring the others in the room. There was a moment of silence, as if my unwillingness to acknowledge them came as a surprise.

I bit back a sigh as I was grabbed. What exactly I expected I couldn't say but to be pinned to the ground and stretched out on the damp and dingy floor wasn't exactly it. It should have been I suppose when you consider who my tormenter was to be, but I was still taken aback.

Then Wormtail climbed onto me, crushing air from my lungs and irritated an already bruised and battered chest. Not to mention I'd never been the most built bloke in the world, maybe even skinny by most accounts, so holding the weight of an overweight man wasn't something I was built for. It took will power I hadn't even known I had to keep from crying out in alarm and disgust.

What can I say; I just didn't fancy having that man put his hands on me. At least the other Death Eaters bathed regularly.

I gritted my teeth and hissed out: "I never thought you were so deprived Wormtail, what with all that Death Eater action I'm sure you've been seeing. What's the problem? Did Voldemort decided to forgo your bed for thoughts of Potter again?"

A hand closed around my throat and squeezed. I coughed, maybe even gagged, but made no sort of move to stop him from strangling me. Soon my vision began to gray around the edges and I could feel myself beginning to slip away from the world of the waking.

Then the pressure was gone and I could breath. I drew in a deep rattling breath involuntarily. Damn it.

I smirked up at the blurry figure hovering above me and he glowered back, clearly furious with me. Good. He'd slipped up and very nearly killed me. He ad almost lost the game we were playing and Voldemort didn't favor losers. (Nor did he like those that won too often. My parents were proof of that.)

Wormtail's buttons were easy for me to find and push. Just mention that Voldemort may want someone above him, and especially Potter, and the man would start to lose what little control he had. He was so very easy to twist and manipulate. That's why Voldemort really kept him close.

He was afraid the man would fall under someone else's sway one day and let lose all of the things he'd seen while in the Death Eater fold. Wormtail could never be allowed to become anyone but Voldemort's because he was Voldemort's. It mad sense in a strange sort of way I think.

"If you had any sense at all you'd stop trying to upset me Malfoy. I control your fate from this moment on, just as I controlled your parents."

I snorted. "I guess we were all pretty useless in those last moments."

His eyes narrowed for a moment then reached over to his side. I tried to follow his hand but found that my head didn't really want to cooperate. Oh well. I was sure I'd find out what exactly he was reaching for in a matter of moments.

"My lord has told me to make sure you always remember your time here with us. We can go about that in a way that we will both find pleasurable-" Like hell. "Or you can continue to be stubborn by trying to push me and suffer for it."

I smirked. "I'm a masochist."

For a second I caught sight of a sharp piece of metal in his hand, nearly white from heat. He held it aloft while forcing my head off to one side. I clenched my jaw in an attempt to steel myself against the oncoming pain. I felt the heat before I felt the metal, and it made my skin blister from the intensity. Then the metal touched my cheek and I jerked as my entire face blossomed in pain. It felt like my skin was slowly being melted away from my face.

Blood filled my mouth, a salty metallic tang I'd come to know very well, and I realized I'd practically bitten my tongue off. I blinked, feeling tears prick my eyes. I felt the metal moving along my skin carefully, carving a pattern and I realized, just as an errant tear burned its way down my face, that I had lost the game.

And I screamed. And I fought and I trashed and I wanted to be anywhere but there and would have not only welcomed Death but fallen to my knees and given it the best blow job of my entire life if I could have just gotten the fuck out of there.

I'm sure my father was somewhere in hell cursing my. He would have been very disappointed to see me crack like I did in that room. Most people would say things like 'of course you screamed, the pain must have been horrible' and 'your parents wouldn't think any less of you for it' but they didn't fucking know Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy did they?

They didn't understand that I had just shamed hundreds of years of strong, thick skinned, unshakeable Malfoys by opening my mouth that day. They wouldn't understand and maybe they can't understand. I couldn't possibly care less.

The last thing I was aware of, before falling into a blessedly black oblivion, was Wormtail crying out.

"I know it! I knew you were nothing but a traitor! You will die!"

And then I woke up in a bed in the infirmary of Hogwarts with a very disenchanted looking Severus Snape at my side. I blinked up at him and he blinked down at me before sitting back in his chair and letting out a long sigh.

Anyone else would have given me false words of comfort to try and ease my pain but Severus just sat there and let the silence seep into my bones and I appreciated that because it gave me time to think.

I had lost. Voldemort had won. I'd broken.

And it would never happen again. Never. Another sound would not leave my lips. My punishment for not winning the game.

…Well, perhaps that wasn't totally true. I spoke to Severus for the short time he was at Hogwarts but now he's gone. Rescuing me exposed him and now he's gone and the only person left who gives a shit about me is that crazy old coot who had me put in here to begin with.

And isn't that kind of ironic?

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Draco leaned against the doorframe and watched Ron watch the ocean. One of the few upsides of being stuck in this strange little prison was the views. While in a technical sense this wing looked directly at the forest all of the rooms were enchanted to show different scenes. Something about evoking feelings of tranquility and peace.

Weasley had stumbled into a room that showed a wide expanse of ocean. He was sitting on the window seat and watching the waves crash against the glass. He had his arms wrapped around himself and he was perfectly still, almost as if there was no one truly inside. Those eyes, which had once been as wide and blue as the water Ron was so intent on watching, were full and seemed almost...gray.

Draco wondered what was wrong with him. Sure Potter was dead but somehow that didn't seem like enough to totally send the redhead off of his rocker. Ron had always struck him as the responsible type who would risk a thousands deaths to protect those around him…

Yet he'd just sent his little mudblood girlfriend and his sister away with enough cruelty that even Lucius Malfoy would have been impressed.

He considered the journal he now held in his hands. Wondered what secrets it may have held.

He tossed it into the room. It bounced off of the window just above Weasley's head and fell to the ground with a soft thud. Ron jumped then turned slowly and looked down. For a moment his one good eye stared at the book blankly then he stood slowly and walked over to it. He crouched, picking it up, then glanced over at Draco.

"Thanks Malfoy." He frowned for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. Then he nodded, more to himself than at Draco. "I hear you don't talk."

While it was true that he hadn't see Draco speak in the few days he'd been there, but he didn't see him that much either. He spent most of his time alone or with Dean and Seamus. Draco wasn't…a person he would ever go out of his way to speak to, even if they were both stark raving mad.

Draco just stared. Bloody brilliant this one was. Where was Thomas when he needed semi-intelligent conversation anyway? (Not that it could really be considered conversation what with him not speaking, but the basic idea still held.)

"It's pretty screwed up; all of this. Or…us, maybe." Ron paused, not sure what he was trying to get across for a minute, or why he was event talking to Malfoy of all people. Maybe because he knew he wouldn't speak back or tell anyone else. It was easy to speak to a mute. "Actually I kind of think everyone else is screwed up and its like we're the only people who notice and so we must be nutters."

Draco arched an eyebrow. How…enlightening. That was probably the most intelligent thing he'd ever heard Weasley say and, considering it was kind of rambling and nonsensical, that was saying something. He understood what Ron meant…he didn't really think he was crazy. Everyone around him maybe, but not really himself.

He made sense, it was the world that was out of whack.

Ron didn't notice Draco's thoughtful expression, too busy trying to puzzle out the jumble that was his mind as of late.

"It's not like…I'm crazy. I mean, I'm probably a little crazy but shouldn't everyone else be crazy as well after…everything? How can anyone who was really there not want to curl up in a little ball and cry? It's just so… And my family and friends, just picking up and moving on. I know that it has to hurt them as well so why are they so intent on never showing it? Why'm I the only one who acts like things aren't okay? They aren't, you know? Nothing can ever really be okay again. Not that I was okay to begin with."

Ron shoved his hands into his pockets, looking at the ground. He was rambling aimlessly, in circles really, and it all came back to the same place. He felt so alone, had always felt alone, with his thoughts and feelings and it was like…the carefully constructed Ron mask he'd fought so hard to maintain throughout the War had just cracked and died with Harry.

He couldn't even fake a smile anymore, not for them. Once he'd faked everything for the sake of those around him but now…he just felt so betrayed. Even more cut off from everyone than he'd been when he'd just faked who he was. Now that he couldn't pretend anymore and was who he was everyone seemed even more without of reach.

They thought he'd just had a spontaneous breakdown and couldn't see that this had been him for quite a while. They probably would never get it. They…just couldn't see him for what he was. Couldn't understand that he'd always been itching with pain; for pain. That he'd always felt like something…strange and twisted lied just under his skin and that maybe if he just carved a little deeper he could cut it out.

No, they didn't understand because…that wasn't them. It was so out of their…line of reasoning that they couldn't get it.

"I guess, maybe, I'm weaker than all of them in the long run. I'm the one who's stuck, right? Mourning instead of moving on, like my dad and Harry would want me to. They'd hate this; how utterly selfish it is. They'd want me to be strong and help everyone else though it. I…I just can't anymore. I feel like I've been falling apart on the inside for years but now I'm starting to crack on the surface and everyone is…they can't face it Can't face me anymore."

Ron turned away from him but Draco couldn't help but notice the wet film that had covered his eyes before he did. He looked away as well, wondering why he was even standing here, listening. He could claim he didn't have a choice, he couldn't very well tell Ron to shut up.

"Its like…they can't even stand to see me anymore, except to come to visit to make sure I'm still breathing. Like it hurts to look at me because I see it all and…what'm I supposed to do? They wouldn't even talk about it! How can they just...forget?"

Draco watched as Ron walked back to the window jerkily and sat down, drawing his legs up to his chest and bowing his head. A strangled sound seemed to be almost torn from him and it took a moment for Draco to fully process that the other teen was crying.

He could just leave couldn't he? Wasn't like Ron would really notice and it wasn't like he gave a damn about the Weasel's stupid nervous breakdown. He had his own shit to work through without taking on anyone else's. He didn't need to care.

He swallowed then walked over to Ron, sitting on the floor so his back was against the window seat and Ron's foot dangled next to his shoulder.

They would just chalk this up as…protecting his fellow crazies. He stood by Thomas and Finnigan, why not Weasley as well? The stupid rivalry was dead and buried, what was the point of clinging to it when the only things they had in this stupid wing was each other? Their fellow seventh years and war survivors: What was the point in shunning the only people they had left?

Even their families didn't give a damn.

This…was truly it.

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Thanks to Moon, Anon, and NZ.

Cora: Psychology is fun and crazy people…have proven to somewhat amusing.

Crazy Loon: I love it when you ramble on, you do it so well. You've got it pretty well. Ron sent Ginny and Hermione away to both protect them and to protect himself. He doesn't want to be that terrible thing they have to deal with that reminds them of the past, but at the same time he doesn't want their pity or…them, really. Draco has a noted interest in Ron, he just isn't sure why that is yet.

Mechante: Something like an explosion, yeah. I'm done with school, just got me a job, and have a few parties lines up…but I'm more or less free. So lots of time to write. It's cool that you were remembering my story, I love the idea of sticking in people's heads…

Taryn: Thanks. I love flawed Ron and Draco (Almost as Draco in makeup actually) so I'd like to think I'm doing a good job. I've done a little research and…well, I'm hoping its going well.


	7. How Much I Really Do Miss You

Atlantis

Notes: Heh...sorry about that wait. Hope this is worth it.

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Chapter Six

How Much I Really Do Miss You

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Seamus wasstretched out on his, Dean's, bed. He was on his stomach and his t-shirt rode up to expose the pale expanse of his back and Dean's fingers itched to reach out and touch the skin, just to feel it under his fingertips again. Instead he drew, let the charcoal in his hand stain his fingers and his palm and the paper until an image on Ron Weasley emerged, head covered by his bandaged arms and one good eye staring out emptily.

Part of Dean ached to give the picture life but knew he couldn't. Everything he drew lacked feeling now. He used to draw because he loved it, because he wanted to share the way he saw things with the rest of the world and it had been something he could have easily imagined spending his whole life doing. He had once, secretly, entertained a fantasy of living in some crappy leaky apartment with no heat, with his drawing, Seamus, and Seamus' writing.

Sex and art and sex and

It had been stupid and childish and indulgent and to him it had seemed perfect. Now it seemed like heaven, the ideal life.

Seamus didn't write anymore of course. Dean kind of doubted he even remembered how good he'd been at it, how easily he'd made the words that Dean just couldn't make work for him flow and paint an image until Dean could almost touch it. Seamus could sit still to write, always.

What Dean would have given for just one more night in the common room, to sit in one of the chairs and draw the blond sprawled in front of the fireplace with a pen and notebook in front of him, Muggle things that Seamus couldn't have lived without. Ink, quill, and parchment just didn't match up.

Dean drew now because he had to. Things started to build in his brain, build up and threaten to topple over and the only way to get them out before they just crashed onto him and suffocated the very life from him was to get them out, to draw and draw until his hands were black and his fingers ached and seemed as if they might be permanently bent to hold onto whatever he was using that day. It was the only way he knew to make the things leave him, the thoughts and the screams and the constant need to just…move and be.

It had to escape and this was the only way he knew for it to do that. It was a necessity to him, something he hated because it was always…ugly. Tainted. Dead and rotting, no life or light or sense of reality to the things that came pouring out of him. It was all so horribly twisted to him and he knew it had to seem that much worse to people who saw it, to know that those images constantly plagued him.

"I miss my family Dean."

Dean jerked and a long black mark now marred Ron's left cheek. He stared numbly at the now ruined picture then looked over at Seamus who was watching him from the corner of his eye, all he could manage with the rest buried in the pillow the way it was.

"You miss them?"

"I think so." There was such an air of childish confusion to his tone that Dean was inclined to tell him that he didn't and then see if Seamus would believe it. "I…it's been a long time hasn't it? Longer than just being here I mean."

"Yeah. A long time." Maybe he could work the mark in, make it a shadow of some kind. Dean liked the shadows a lot, though he didn't draw them for fear of not getting them right but maybe now was a time to start.

"They haven't even owled. Are they mad at me? Don't they want me back?"

He set the work aside, deciding to worry about it later and crawled down to sit next to Seamus, who shifted so he was on his side and staring at Dean, so much trust in his eyes.

"Of course they do. There are just…things." He shrugged. What could he say, really? Your parents hated the idea of you being with another man so much they turned their backs on you when you needed them most? That they only care now because you can't remember? That the only thing between them and taking you away in Dumbledore?

"I don't understand."

"I know Shay." He wanted to brush back the hair that slide down to cover one sea colored eye but couldn't make his hand rise to do it. "You…do you really? Want to go back home?"

"I…could you come?"

"No." That was definite. He couldn't let Seamus hold any illusions to the contrary because there was simply no chance. Where Seamus' family had once accepted him as one of their own they viewed him as some kind of…infection now. "I…no. I have to stay here, you know that."

Seamus' brow furrowed and for a moment Dean thought that he really didn't remember. He'd told him on more than one occasion that the Ministry wouldn't let him leave until he had graduated Hogwarts, the terms of his release. Dumbledore had fought for him and instead of rotting in Azkaban he was here, rotting with the crazies and pretending to get well.

"You killed them." Seamus' eyes cleared for a moment. "For me."

Dean reached out and let his fingers drift over Seamus' skin.

"I almost…almost remember sometimes." Seamus moved closer, head resting in Dean's lap while arms wrapped around his legs. "I miss you."

"Yeah." Dean's throat threatened to close around the words. God how he hated words. He wanted to show Seamus that he knew, that he missed him as well, but could do nothing. Even in these moments, when Seamus was Seamus he couldn't…

It was taking advantage in a way and in another it was like suicide, granting himself a few moments only to know that when it was over it would be forgotten, shuffled back under the strange rug that Seamus had woven in his mind. Every time they touched Seamus would kill it later.

"If you want…I'd let you. I would."

"I know."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean Thomas

Journal Entry Eight

Year Seven

Number 201064

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There are these moments, when everything is quite and still and I can almost feel the earth move underneath my fit, spinning throughout the galaxy with no in sight and just…spinning. Around and around and around some more, while I stay in the same exactly spot.

I like that kind of stillness. I appreciate it at times.

Other times it's like…standing on the edge of something, something deep, and it's all I can do to not just…fall over it. This is one of those times, when my mind and my body are so frantic and out of sync that I know I'm moments away from crashing completely.

I haven't slept in almost five days. I guess I'm in the middle of one of those manic episodes. I can't sleep, I can't rest, I can't do anything except move and shake and draw and touch and I hate myself so much at these moments because…

Because I need him at these moments. I can feel myself starting to fly apart at the edges into a million vaguely shaped pieces that might fit together and might not and…it's all so strange and different. I need him so desperately to hold me together, like he used to do. Wrap his arms around me and whisper soft things in my ear and just…hold me.

I wasn't so bad before all of this. I kept it under control, kept my maniac episodes to myself and let the depressive moments become who I was in the eyes of those around me. I was deadpan, calm and steady and silent. That was just who Dean was, it wasn't something to be at all concerned about. No one really knew that those times I was screaming inside, clawing at my insides and trying to carve my way outside of my own skin.

No one but Seamus. Maybe because he was my best friend, maybe because he was my lover, I suppose though that sounds like a really odd term in my head and doesn't even begin to encompass all that he was to me and shit sometimes words are so inadequate and weak, maybe because he just…knew.

And he held me, let me rage when I needed to, cry when I need to and show all of these swirling emotions that no one else could ever see in me and I knew I loved him no matter what anyone else said about us being together.

I depended on him so much and when they took him I slipped, let all of the built up shit come pouring out in one big rush and I lost control. Now I'm trying to pull my control back but it's so hard sometimes and there are moments when I think it would be so much easier to give in and just be…whatever it is that I am so that I could just stop fighting it.

It makes me so tired sometimes, tired but unable to sleep.

This…bugger.

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Dean growled, furious with himself for daring to reveal so much and ripped the page out before throwing it onto the floor. He couldn't let Bare see that; it was bad enough that everyone knew about it now. Knew how close to the edge he'd always been.

Seamus' parents wanted to take him away, now more than ever. They didn't care about healing or having disowned him the year before; now that he was a blank slate, save a few rare moments, they felt they could just hit some kind of re-do switch and make him over so he didn't fall for eerily quiet Black guys who even made their parents uncomfortable.

They thought they'd been offered a miracle and now that they knew Dean was unstable, had always been unstable, they could go back to believing he'd done something to their son, changed him and perverted him somehow with his 'illness'. It wasn't Seamus' choice, because who would chose to deal with someone crazy? No one.

It amused him that they knew so little about their son.

Dean had wanted to laugh when he read his sister's letter, paraphrasing what she'd heard the Finnigans telling their parents one night. The Thomas' agreed and thought that the moment they could manage it Seamus should go away and Dean should come home and maybe everything would be all better, like sticking a band-aid on a missing limb or something. He had only been able to sigh and ball it up.

He never wrote back. He doubted she expected it. All there was now was waiting. Dean would let him go if Seamus wanted it, really. If he ever looked at him and truly wanted it Dean would let him leave, smile and hug him, and then gladly fling himself off of the tallest available structure and pray he couldn't fly.

Seamus had fallen asleep some time ago, before Ron had come back to the dorm room. Surprisingly he had Draco in tow. Not that Dean minded the blond's company; quite the opposite really. Draco was very…calming. Not so much for Dean as for Seamus.

When Seamus had his…episodes there were times when Dean had no hope of getting through to him, mainly because seeing Seamus like that could completely shatter Dean. Sometimes he just didn't give a damn, and those times were the worse.

Somehow, Draco's silent watching could snap Seamus out of it. Dean suspected there was something to non-judgmental silence that could sooth anyone even more than comforting words or touches could begin to.

Even him, when the situation called for it, and he could tell he was getting to that point. He was jittery, edgy and unable to rest or think for long periods of time or even…exist, really. He didn't exist like this, he was just this hyped-up _thing_ in an ill-fitting skin suit and it was just so…

He hated the night most of all, when he had nothing to distract his fingers and eyes and mind and so he only had this time and ability to dwell only he couldn't do that because his mind was everywhere but where he was and it hadn't used to be this bad.

"Where's Dean?" Ron asked, voice soft as if in reverence of the nighttime. Dean didn't know how Draco had managed to get out of his room when it was nearly curfew but suspected it had something to do with Bear being a total incompetent.

Draco broke away from Ron and came shuffling towards him. He was where he always in times like this, in the blackest corner of the room, where the shadows rose up like psychical things and held him tightly and he could almost think. He wouldn't be sleeping or resting anytime soon and from here he could see everything without really being seen.

Draco knelt next to him, head tilted to the side while blue-gray eyes asked a silent question. Dean stared back for a moment then looked away from him, past the sleeping Travis and to Seamus. The blond was curled around Dean's pillow, sleeping peacefully. He looked so at ease. He looked back at Draco and he was still staring, waiting, with those strangely calm eyes and Dean hated him so much. Wanted to hurt him, reaching out and pull him apart until he could feel blood coat his fingers.

He just sighed and buried his head in his arms, willing it all away from him, just for a little while at least. Just so he could breathe for a few moments, without making that unnerving gasping noise or having his fingers scrape across the floor, groping for god only knew what, because damn if Dean had anything close to an idea anymore.

He just…wanted peace. He wanted Seamus and peace and a good nights sleep and maybe some hot chocolate with marshmallows.

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Bwahahha…yeah, I keep you waiting all summer for that. I just had this urge to pull Dean apart and, while I have other stuff written, none of it really had the right tone to be a part of this chapter.

Mechante: …yeah, I was a bit update happy wasn't I? I'm having that strange flow again…I've come to the conclusion I write better when school is in session and, at the moment, have like ten documents open, begging for me to write and update. I'm inclined to agree with Ron as well, he seems pretty sane. I think it's everyone else that has a few issues…

Taa: Well, first, Dean's number. There are no such thing as coincidences. At least not in anything I write… After all, Valjean was imprisoned for something that was undoubtedly wrong but he had the best of intentions behind it. Dean was wrong, but he did if for the 'right' reasons as it were. Actually there is a plot, I'm proud to say, but like most things in my writing you won't know its there until you trip over it. I've never read either book, being more of a fantasy/sci-fi junkie myself, but I've heard of them… And I understand your general dislike of Draco. I actually don't like Harry (in the least…whiney little bastard he is.) but I tolerate him fairly well in fan fiction, I think. When I'm not killing him off I mean.

Candy: Actually I was musing on the fact that Hogwarts must still be moving as usual in spite of the insanity going on below…weird thought, isn't it?

Taryn: But if there were more like this mine wouldn't be original and that would suck, ne?

Faith: Ah…yes, I like to keep you strung between many stories, unsure of what you want, so when I update you're ever really disappointed.

Lilith: Man…there is something about your reviews that makes me go back and consider my own writing a little more, and pick out points that I myself may have missed.


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